by R. W. Peake
“You weren’t there,” he told Bagadates. “I was. And Phraates didn’t even try to put up a fight. He just…gave himself up.” The younger Parthian’s features had hardened, and he spat an oath before he concluded, “He wasn’t worthy to be King of Kings, Bagadates, and as far as I’m concerned, I owe him no more allegiance.”
That had been a couple of weeks into their captivity, which had begun in a hastily constructed set of wooden pens, each one holding twenty men and separated by just enough distance that it was almost impossible for the men in each cage to exchange anything other than talk. Arshak’s words hadn’t convinced him entirely, but it had given him something to think about, and slowly, he came to the realization that, because he was technically the highest-ranking man of the royal bodyguard, that made him responsible for not just the remaining men of Phraates’ bodyguard, but the men of the garrison, the common soldiers and archers. One of the Legions that had taken part in the assault was still there when he called to one of the Romans guarding his pen, asking in passable Latin to speak to the commanding officer. Frankly, he was surprised when, not only was his request not ignored, but within a short period of time, he was taken out of his pen and escorted to meet the Roman in command. His first shock came when he was led into the small room that he had been in more times than he could count, back when it had been the quarters of Zalmoxis during the period when Phraates had fled from Susa; he had assumed that the throne room would have been appropriated whatever Roman was left in charge. The second surprise wasn’t as much in the identity of the man, since Bagadates had never seen him before, but he didn’t need to meet him to understand that this man wasn’t a member of whatever the Romans called their nobility. Tanned brown as a nut, with a lined face, there was a coarseness in the man’s demeanor that was more informative to Zalmoxis than anything else, and while he didn’t know the exact title, he understood that this Centurion was the commander of the Legion.
“You asked to see me,” the Centurion said in Greek, not bothering to look up from the tablet he was supposedly studying, but Bagadates understood this was calculated. “What do you want?”
“What is your name, Centurion?” Bagadates asked, instead.
This clearly surprised the Roman, which caused him to look up at Bagadates, eyeing him warily, although he answered readily enough, “Gnaeus Carfulenus.”
“Thank you, Centurion Carfulenus,” he replied, then said, “My name is Bagadates.”
Carfulenus sat back, regarding the Parthian for a long moment, then asked, “So what is it that you want, Bagadates?”
“I would like to know if you plan on executing us,” Bagadates replied calmly.
Now Carfulenus was even more startled, blinking a couple of times as he thought furiously how to respond; of all the things he had been expecting when this Parthian showed up, this hadn’t been anywhere on his list.
“That,” he answered cautiously, “isn’t something I can tell you.”
“Why?” Bagadates asked in a reasonable tone.
“Because,” Carfulenus answered, feeling strangely on the defensive, “I haven’t been given any orders.” After a beat, he did think to add, “Yet.”
“And it would be your general Caesar who would make that decision, yes?”
Once again, Carfulenus hesitated, but after a moment, he couldn’t see any harm in answering, “Yes, he will make that decision.”
Bagadates nodded, then he broached the subject he had asked to speak to Carfulenus about. “While we wait for Caesar’s decision, may I make a request?”
“You can ask,” Carfulenus answered cautiously, trying to guess what this Parthian had in mind.
“These wooden pens have become foul,” Bagadates began. “Some men are already becoming ill, and it is not going to get any better.”
“And,” Carfulenus shrugged, “why should I care?”
“Because, if you are as experienced as I believe you are, you know that it will not be long before that illness spreads, and it will spread to your own men.”
This, as Carfulenus well knew, was nothing but the truth, and in fact, he had begun to worry about that very thing. His hope, however, was that they would be getting orders from Caesar to return to the army and leave the problem to someone else.
“What,” Carfulenus asked, “are you suggesting?”
“That you move us out of the pens, and to a place with fresh water and better sanitation,” Bagadates replied.
In the ensuing conversation, which quickly took on the form of a negotiation, the Parthian and Roman argued about how to handle a problem that, as Bagadates had pointed out, would impact the Romans at some point. By the time an agreement was reached, both men had taken the measure of the other, and despite their roles, had developed a grudging respect for each other. In terms of tangible results, it meant that, despite the usual complaining, the Romans constructed an enclosure that allowed their prisoners a reasonable amount of freedom of movement, and most importantly, they tied it into the sanitation system of the Roman camp that Carfulenus had ordered constructed the day after the 10th and 12th departed to return to Susa. The primary difference in the construction of the camp was that the orientation of ditch and wall was reversed, so any Parthian wishing to escape had to negotiate the ditch then scale the wall, while the ramp up to the wall faced outward. There were two areas where Carfulenus would not budge. The Parthian prisoners had to make do with crude shelters that couldn’t rightly be called tents, ensuring that there were no walls that might screen the prisoners from view, and it kept the amount of wood that could be used to construct weapons or a makeshift ladder to a minimum. The second condition was that the prisoners were chained together in pairs, which meant that when one had to go to the latrine located at the far corner of the camp, his comrade had to go with him. Despite these restrictions, the living conditions were vastly improved from the wooden pens, and Bagadates became something of a hero to his fellow prisoners, something he barely noticed because of his own internal battle. In the days following his talk with Carfulenus, he had struggled with a massive sense of guilt, certain that he had been disloyal to his King and that he should have resisted his captors to his last breath. What he was unaware of was that, now that they were in a more open camp, Bagadates had been under constant observation, by order of Carfulenus, who at first was certain that the Parthian had some motive other than improving the lot of his men. And, as the days passed, Carfulenus became convinced that Bagadates was involved in some inner struggle that had nothing to do with plotting to escape. While they never spoke of it, the Primus Pilus correctly guessed that the Parthian was trying to come to terms with the conflict between his sense of duty to his king and to the men with whom he was now confined. That was why, about two weeks after moving to the new camp, Carfulenus had Bagadates brought to him, which meant that Arshak was present as well since he was the man to whom Bagadates was chained. Still using the small office, Carfulenus sat behind the desk, watching impassively as the pair shuffled in, the clinking sound of their chains announcing their approach before they appeared in the doorway. When they entered, however, the two Parthians’ attention wasn’t on Carfulenus, but the man standing slightly behind him.
“Bodroges?” Bagadates gasped. “What are you doing here?” Before the former courtier could reply, Bagadates’ expression changed to one that Carfulenus would describe as if the Parthian had suddenly been stricken by some illness, and his voice was choked as he asked, “What has happened?”
Bodroges wasn’t particularly happy about being sent to Sostrate by Caesar, especially since he was “escorted” by Gundomir and thirty of Caesar’s German bodyguards, but he had quickly reconciled himself to the idea that the best course for him to pursue was to obey Caesar and wholeheartedly adopt the Roman cause. Unlike Bagadates, this didn’t create much inner turmoil, although this wasn’t solely due to the young courtier’s nature or any duplicity in his makeup, which was no more or less than any other Parthian noble. For Bodroges, the pre
vious few months had convinced him that, in simple terms, Rome couldn’t be defeated; not by Parthia, certainly, and he didn’t believe that there was a nation on earth that could. Not, at least, with Caesar leading them. Consequently, when Carfulenus sent a dispatch to Caesar, requesting the presence of someone that the former royal bodyguard Bagadates would trust, Caesar had sent Bodroges. Now here he was, standing in this office, and he did feel a twinge of guilt at the stricken expression of the bodyguard, who he knew by sight but little else, it not being seemly for a noble of Bodroges’ standing to consort with men of minor houses. That, he realized in the moment, had all changed, but he was experienced at masking his true feelings while presenting another face to the world, and was obviously very good at it since he was essentially one of the last men standing of Phraates’ court.
“Bagadates,” Bodroges turned to his chained companion, “Arshak, I have been sent here from Susa to inform you of the current situation.”
Before he could say anything more, Bagadates interrupted, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, “And who is it that sent you, Bodroges?” Turning his attention to Carfulenus, who was watching silently, he asked the Primus Pilus, “Did he arrive here in Sostrate under a flag of truce?”
Irritated by what he saw as both disrespect and distrust, Bodroges spoke before Carfulenus could, saying coldly, “No, Bagadates. I did not arrive here as part of a truce.” Pausing, he felt the twinge again but ruthlessly suppressed it, reminding himself that he served a new master as he continued, “There is no need for a truce, because Phraates is dead, Susa has fallen, and we have surrendered to Caesar.”
Despite suspecting this, it still struck Bagadates with the force of a physical blow; he even bent over at the waist as if he had been punched in the stomach by an invisible man, but his eyes never left Bodroges’ face.
It was Arshak who audibly gasped then managed to ask in a choked voice, “When did this happen? How did this happen?”
Bodroges hesitated, and he looked to Carfulenus in a silent plea that it be the Roman who described what was, no matter the current circumstances, an awful humiliation and bitter defeat, but the Primus Pilus gave his answer with a small shake of his head, obviously understanding not only what Bodroges was asking, but why. Swallowing down an angry retort, Bodroges relied on his skill as a courtier to deliver an unpalatable piece of news, yet as he began speaking, the thought flashed through his mind: At least I don’t have to worry about losing my head for telling someone news they didn’t want to hear. Even in his short period of association with Caesar and the Romans, he had been present when the general was presented with a piece of information that, if it had been Phraates, might have cost the bearer of the message his life, yet not once did he witness Caesar taking out his ire on the man. In an odd way, this made Bodroges more comfortable as he imparted to his two countrymen the news of the fall of the Arsacid Kings, the capture of Susa, even the death of Gobryas, although he omitted the detail that it had been Bodroges who had assassinated the man when he refused to see reason. He also left out Phraates’ actions when he had been brought as prisoner outside the walls of Susa, when for the first and only time, he had behaved as a King of Parthia should, ordering the defenders to cut them all down, even himself. That, Bodroges reasoned, wasn’t as important as the result, so while he was speaking about Phraates, he moved immediately from the fall of the city and the surrender, to Phraates’ execution, and while he hadn’t been present, he had heard about Phraates soiling himself while begging for his life, which he related as well.
“So,” he concluded, “as you can see, we have been defeated, and there is nobody left of any of the royal houses who could become King of Kings, even if there was a spad left to lead.”
Midway through Bodroges’ account, Carfulenus had seen that both Parthians were on the verge of collapse from the news, and he had allowed them to take seats on two of the stools that were normally arrayed across the far wall. For several long moments, neither Bagadates nor Arshak spoke, although it was clear to Carfulenus that the younger Parthian was waiting for Bagadates to say something, which the Primus Pilus took as another sign that the older man was a true leader. Once Bodroges was finished, Carfulenus gave the pair a moment to compose themselves, then without any further explanation, had them escorted back to the prison camp.
After they had gone, Bodroges asked Carfulenus curiously, “Primus Pilus, if I may ask…what is your purpose in telling this to Bagadates?”
Carfulenus was naturally a suspicious sort of man, and he hadn’t been present for both the fall of Susa and the immediate aftermath, meaning that there was no way he was going to divulge everything to this Parthian, so he settled on part of it, saying, “Because the sooner they realize that there’s nobody left to fight for, the better. Once it sinks in, they’ll be easier to handle.”
Bodroges felt certain that the Roman had more in mind than this, but he also recognized this was all that he was going to get, and he departed for Susa less than a full watch later, which suited Carfulenus perfectly.
It took a few days, but one morning when Bagadates awoke to the sound of the horn that he had learned the Romans called the bucina, it was with a different perspective. While he would never acknowledge it to his companion, Arshak’s words had as much impact on Bagadates’ change as those of Bodroges, for the simple but powerful reason that Bodroges knew that, up to the moment of their capture, Arshak had worshiped Phraates. It didn’t say much about Arshak’s sense of judgment; while Bagadates would have unhesitatingly sacrificed himself for Phraates, just as he had been willing for Orodes, he also knew that, had Phraates survived, he would have been a horrible king. During their time chained together, Bagadates learned that this realization hadn’t hit Arshak until the last possible moment, when he witnessed Phraates’ nearly blind panic and his desperation when the Romans appeared outside the walls of Sostrate. And, Bagadates acknowledged, witnessing the young bodyguard’s disillusionment and the resulting bitterness had worked like a corrosive agent on his own view of not just Phraates himself, but the Parthian cause in general. As confusing, and painful, as it was, what had happened to Parthia had to be part of the plans of Ahura Mazda, he reasoned, and as the days passed, the more convinced Bagadates became that the god was punishing Parthia for its arrogance, and for the sins of Phraates during his reign, short as it may have been. The result of this was that, when Bagadates sat up on this day from his pallet, which was nothing more than a cloak on a bed of straw, and the first sight that greeted him, as had been the case for weeks now, were all of his fellow prisoners, it was with the conviction that the time for mourning for the old Parthia was over. It was time, he resolved, to come to terms with their new reality and make the best of it, and if that meant cooperating with the Romans, so be it. For the first time since Bodroges’ appearance, what crossed Bagadates’ mind when he thought of the man wasn’t revulsion. Instead, he decided that Bodroges had simply accepted this new reality sooner than he had; now he had a new task, and that was to convince certain of his fellow prisoners to accept it as well. Some habits and attitudes don’t disappear easily, which was why he never considered spending time with those men who had been in the rank and file; they were peasants, and they would follow the lead of their social superiors as they always did. No, the men that mattered were his fellow members of the royal bodyguard, and once he and Arshak broke their fast with chunks of the loaves of bread that the Romans distributed every morning, he led the other man around the camp, stopping at the shelters of those men, spending a few moments at each talking to them. When Carfulenus was informed of this, his only response was a small smile, then once the man who brought the news left, he opened a wax tablet and began to write. The day before, he had finally received the orders that he and the rest of his Legion had been eagerly waiting to receive; they were being relieved at last to return to Susa for the winter. As he was writing, he decided to leave the tablet behind for whoever was coming to relieve them, and once he was finished, he placed
the tablet in a cubbyhole in the shelf behind the desk.
“Again,” Bagadates barked, first in his own tongue, then in Latin.
The roiling dust made it difficult for the Parthian and Marcus Agrippa, who was seated on his horse next to him, to see, but Bagadates was experienced in determining when men had returned to their original spots in the tightly packed formation. They had been practicing the wheel maneuver for more than a third of a watch under the critical eye of the former royal bodyguard who, while not in overall command, had quickly been appointed to the position of drillmaster, and the second in command of one of what was now four ala of this hybrid cavalry force, two more than the original planned by Octavian. Flanking Agrippa and Bagadates were Cornuficius and Arctosages, and while neither of them looked particularly happy, they had both resigned themselves to this Parthian, who had arrived from Sostrate with another three hundred men who had opted to fight for Rome, being responsible for training the force how to fight in the Parthian manner. The truth, as brutal as it was to their pride, was that Bagadates was the best choice for this, although neither man trusted the Parthian. If they had known that the Parthian privately held his own doubts about what he was doing for the conquerors of his home, they would have felt vindicated, and Bagadates would have been a dead man. Despite his bitterness towards Phraates, and his recognition that the Parthian cause was doomed, when Artaxerxes, who Bagadates knew fairly well, and the Romans Agrippa and Cornuficius had showed up in Sostrate to recruit men from the prisoners to fight for Rome, he held aloof at first. What he had no way of knowing was that, thanks to the report Carfulenus had left behind, Agrippa and the others had more insight into who Bagadates was, not just his role as de facto leader of the remaining prisoners, but Carfulenus’ own observations into his character, he really had no chance to resist their attempts to recruit him. Specifically, it was one piece of information that, in a moment of bitter candor, Bagadates had blurted out to the Primus Pilus during one of their meetings, and which Carfulenus had independently verified that proved to be the clinching argument.